


Watch

by feedmyflame



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, In Public, Intimacy, Love, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Public Display of Affection, Sex Positive, Trust, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 00:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feedmyflame/pseuds/feedmyflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They share themselves with each other, bit by bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch

“And what would you like, miss?”

The waiter smiles pleasantly at Elena as she puts tremendous effort into maintaining her composure. Damon’s fingers derail her speech as he lightly, cruelly strokes the top of her knee under the table, his perfectly groomed nails sending unhinging distraction radiating from her kneecap inwards. She’s barely able to point randomly at the menu.

“Sorry miss, is that the…side of green beans?”

She flushes red, and Damon smirks. The others in their party start to turn their heads quizzically, and Damon takes pity on her for a second, retreating.

“Sorry,” she says, “I mean the ravi-oh…” Damon gets immense satisfaction from watching her falter; he’s decided she doesn’t deserve a break and travels further towards her center, the pads of his fingertips barely grazing the inside of her upper thigh, and she can’t get the words out. She swallows hard and reaches for her water with an apologetic half-smile. Damon can barely contain his self-satisfaction as a cocky grin breaks out over his face. _They can’t know_ , Elena thinks desperately, _I have to cover it_ …

“The ravioli?” The waiter mercifully finishes her sentence, jotting down her order on his pad. “Very good, thank you.”

“Thanks,” Elena replies quickly, eager to finish the exchange. Her gulp of water doesn’t all make it into her mouth, and she fumbles for a napkin to catch the few icy drops that have escaped down her chest. As the server moves to her left to take Caroline’s order, Elena takes the opportunity to silently ask Damon what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. They’re in public. His stare is easy to catch—it’s already squarely on her, roving hungrily, caressing the curves under her dress where the spill has darkened it, and she’s sure he’ll get them discovered. Sexy he may be, but subtle he’s not. 

She berates him with her eyes: _What the fuck are you thinking? Caroline’s birthday dinner is hardly the time to let everyone know what’s going on between us, and you’re not playing fair_. He knows that every nerve above her knees has a direct line to her clit, and every touch is agonizing torture; how can she make small talk when her wetness is getting harder to ignore by the second?

He holds her scolding gaze and his eyes smile mischievously at her, unfazed by her halfhearted protests. Then, in a mock show of surrender, he bows his head and gives an obliging shrug, but he’s enjoying teasing her too much to let her off so easily. He looks up from under thick eyelashes to watch her face as he slowly tilts his fingers, letting his fingernails trail up an inch, stroking up and down against the line of her panties. Her forced scowl fades muscle by muscle as his touch arrests her; she loses momentary control of her face, her forehead relaxing as her lips part slightly to let air sharply in. Her legs ease apart despite herself and she sinks ever so slightly in her chair, and only then does he let his hand retreat along the length of her leg and come to rest in his own lap. Her body helplessly follows the fingers that leave her a trembling mess, tilting towards him as he turns to strike up a conversation with the diner to his right. It happens to be April, whose very existence Elena suddenly resents. It’s hard to care who’s looking when she wants to come so badly, and Elena wishes Damon would reach back over and fuck her with his fingers until she can’t remember her own name, or his. It’s all she can do not to reach down and finish herself off where she sits.

“Elena? Are…you ok?” Matt, bless his heart, is the only one to notice Elena’s breathlessness; Caroline and Tyler are wrapped up in flirty conversation, and Bonnie’s been flirting with the bartender for the last ten minutes. For once, Matty’s attentiveness is a curse.

“I’m fine, Matt, just feeling a little—tired.” Damon snorts into his bourbon; either he heard her inexpert lie, or April just said something particularly amusing.

“Are you sure you’re ok? You look sort of sweaty.”

With a playful wink that only Elena can see, Damon turns to weigh in. 

“Yes, Elena,” he says with a glint in his eye and a deeply furrowed brow. A note of facetiousness creeps into his display of faux concern. “You look… _sweaty_.” He relishes the word, clearly gloating.

She glares at him, frustrated and furious and so fucking wet, but the look she gets in return does nothing to alleviate her need. Those stupid, paralyzing eyes. She can’t look away from them, and she can’t subdue her libido, and the result is eyefucking so brazen she’s given up all hope of escaping the notice of the whole table. 

“Actually…” she manages to keep her wits about her long enough to answer Matt. “Uh, I am a little dizzy, now that you mention it. Do you think you could ask the waiter for a wet towel?” Her performance isn’t Oscar-worthy, but Matt jumps up to find a waiter, and Elena is as free as she can be from prying eyes, considering she’s in public.

As their companions chat merrily around them, Damon selfishly keeps his hands to himself while stimulating Elena with his eyes; they wander along her most intimate places in hungry succession, and she can almost see what he’s doing to her in his mind. His eyes fall to her neckline, and she feels the ghost of his lower lip on her breast; they wander to her lap, and she feels the paralyzing illusion of his tongue massaging her clit, pressing blissful agony into every sensitive millimeter. She tries to think of ways she can get off within the next ten seconds without anyone noticing; her mind curses Damon while her body radiates heat towards him. Vengeful, she lets herself keep his perfect face in view as she plays with her hemline, hiking it up slowly until the lace of her lingerie is visible, and she watches his eyes lock on her hips with a newly urgent ferocity; his expression shifts from playful to ravenous. Good. He started it—he might as well experience this hell, as long as she has to. 

Elena takes the towel that Matt runs back to offer her, but sets it directly on the table and turns to Caroline to make her excuses. She can’t wait one more second.

“Care, I’m so sorry,” she says. “I think I’m going to head home. I really don’t feel well—it must have been something I ate.”

“But…our food hasn’t even come yet,” Caroline replies, her face twisting into a confused pout.

“Right,” Elena says, kicking herself mentally. “Well, um…it must be something else then. Happy birthday. Sorry again.”

She stands up and almost knocks her chair over, but Damon catches it and says,

“I’ll take you home. You don’t look so good.”

Yeah right. She looks better than anything he’s ever seen.

They practically sprint to the exit, ignoring the bewildered stares that follow them. Right then, neither of them gives a fuck about Caroline’s birthday.

*

She playfully bats away his wandering hands as they race up the stairs to her bedroom. She shuts the door and he goes for her zipper, but she shoves him off her in a gesture of flirty indignation, a firm hand holding him at bay.

“God, Damon,” she says. “That was not. Fair.”

“Now Elena,” he purrs, coming close to her again, “I’m pretty sure you loved it. I’m a vampire, remember? We have superb powers of deduction.” He traps her against her bedroom door, fencing her in with his limbs, and buries his face in her hair to whisper, 

“I could smell you wanting me.”

She closes her eyes and stores his proximity in her sense memory; she concentrates in turn on the warmth hovering above her skin, the roughness of the denim that she finds between his legs, the notes of bourbon and desire that she traps in her lungs as she inhales. 

“What you…smelled…was me wanting to _come_ ,” Elena clarifies, jokingly knocking him down a peg. Her concentration rests with her right hand, which is caressing him through his jeans. If they ever fit him properly they no longer do, and she relishes the growing firmness against her. When she speaks again her tone has shifted and she sounds almost timid when she speaks again, soft and quiet into the slope of his jaw: “And now I’m going to.”

He lets out a sigh of anticipation and swells against her as his hand slips down her torso, but she pulls her hand away from his jeans to halt his explorations as she follows up her statement with another:

“…and you’re going to watch.”

He groans in protest as she pushes him onto the window seat. He tries to stand back up, but she firmly returns him to the cushions.

“Watch,” she repeats, and takes several steps backward.

Her eyes locked on Damon’s face, Elena lets her hand find her zipper, easing it down and exposing her right side. The fabric gapes open and he breaks their eye contact as his gaze drops; he can see an inch of her bra band, and he wants her to take it off more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. She doesn’t yet, though; she takes a beat to take in the obviousness of his desire for her, and it gets her wetter than all hell to see him drooling over her. Her finger trails along her pronounced collarbone, and she gives herself goosebumbs as she slides the strap of her dress down over her shoulder, then goes for the other; she pauses again, and waits for his eyes to flit back up from her neckline to her eyes so she can give him a small smile before pushing the dress down to her waist.

She knows everywhere he wants to touch, and she does it for him, using his stare as a guide. First her hair, her incredible hair; she spreads her fingers through it, letting it tickle the nerves on her nearly-bare back. He almost feels its softness through her hands. Strands catch in her hooked fingers as she lets his eyes direct them to her neck; she strokes gently up and down the small vertical valley next to her throat, closing her eyes and letting her head tilt back. It blows her mind how certain places translate immediately to her clit when stroked; she feels the touch between her legs long before she even comes close. She’ll get there eventually, but fuck if she isn’t going to take her time. She wants Damon on the brink of orgasm by the time she gets there, and she’s going to bring them both there together.

“Take off your bra,” Damon asks quietly, reverently, almost shy; he knows she’s in charge, and has no idea if she’s open to his humble input. She’s getting off on her power over him, and decides to indulge his request; she’s ready to be free of the bra anyway. Her hand finds its clasp and she shrugs it off, letting it fall to the floor.

Damon lets out a small involuntary moan, and reaches for the button of his pants, but he stops himself to look guiltily at her for permission. She answers by sliding her thumb into the wetness of her mouth, then letting it hover over the center of her breast. Very delicately, she barely lets it touch; she swallows visibly as wetness pools in her core, and the slightest of nods allows him to finish undoing his pants. He can’t touch her, but he can touch himself.

“Wait for me,” she orders softly, and he’ll try; he mirrors the delicate gentleness of her caresses, teasing himself the way she’s teasing herself, letting the tension build. He uses one finger to trail along his stiff length, and suddenly he’s not sure how long he can wait. God, the way she’s breathing, the way her hand is moving down her abdomen… _oh my god, she’s almost to her pussy_ …

“What should I do now?” She asks coyly as her hand falls to rest at her belly button, a feigned innocence tinting her voice. She knows exactly what he wants her to do.

“Keep going,” he says. He can’t be more specific. He’s sure he used to know how to breathe, but he’s completely forgotten.

She slides off her underwear, her wetness spotting it, and sinks down into a seated position on her bed. She leans against her headboard and lets her legs fall apart, and he has to take his hand away from himself to keep from coming. Deliberately, slowly, she starts to touch herself once more, her fingers finding the same path his had traced at the restaurant as she travels down the tilt of her inner thigh. He watches her approach and lets out an impatient groan as she reaches the inner juncture of her hip and poises her hand above her center. 

Then, finally, she can’t wait any more; she runs her finger along the perimeter of herself, coating it in her arousal, and with her index and middle finger she parts her lips to show him the swelling; his mouth gapes open as her chest rises and falls unevenly. Her eyes stay open, memorizing his response; it exceeds her expectations. He’s watching her move around her clit with shellshocked disbelief, and he’s incredibly stiff. He lets out a low “oh,” and forgets his face; he’s utterly lost in the arousal he can see so clearly between her smooth thighs. The cool air playing over Elena’s most sensitive skin reminds her how exposed she is. She feels incredibly safe with him, though. 

She reaches for her nightstand and opens the top drawer. As she pulls out her vibrator and brings it down between her legs, Damon allows himself to resume his slow strokes; he knows she’s close—can see that she’s close, _fuck_ —and he’s weighed down with the intensity of his need to come. She better hurry.

Elena switches on the vibrator and takes a few seconds to let the sound trigger her sense memory, anticipation coursing through her. Then she lays it next to her clit, and instantly her breath becomes deep audible gasps; she lets out an “mmmmmf” as her whole body starts to rise up and down in response. Damon can’t take his eyes off her face, her perfect face so taken over by ecstasy. 

It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

The smooth instrument relentlessly massages her clit, and she moves it up and down with deep concentration. She hasn’t forgotten Damon’s presence, but she’s retreated into a personal haze of incapacitating pleasure. Half-words fall out of her mouth, gibberish, and she moves her hips rhythmically.

“T….tell me how it feels,” Damon pleads, his voice low. 

It’s a tall order. She’s so close, so incredibly close.

“Oh my god, Damon,” she breathes brokenly. “It feels…so…” she moves the object down and feels the vibrations tickle the threshold, then thrusts quickly inside and moans, rocking forward to maximize the friction deep inside her. “Oh, it feels so…” she tries to breathe but just moans… “So…good…” Her face tells him as much as her words; her mouth gapes open in ecstasy, and spasms of unhinged pleasure contort her features with each thrust. “Shit, fuck,” she breathes, “fuck. Damon, I…mmnh…I’m close.”

He’s been close for what feels like an eternity.

“Come, Elena. Let me see you come.” He strokes himself without restraint now, and he knows he won’t be able to wait; the shaking goddess in front of him has completely demolished his self-control, and he speaks her name over and over, a dark prayer. “Elena…”

She returns the vibrator to her clit, and feels a rising wave of culminating pleasure start from the outer edges of her being. “Now,” she says in an instructive whimper, and then forgets about Damon for a second; she screws her eyelids together and lets broken syllables fall unheeded from her mouth, and she almost sobs with the incredible release. Her voice is animal as the climax vibrates through her arms, her thighs, behind her belly button, deep inside her. Intimate muscles clench repeatedly as she lets go of all control, pleasure taking over as she contorts with the power of her orgasm.

She feels incredibly, unbelievably alive.

*

Slumping over on her side, her hand relaxes and drops the vibrator to the floor as she pulls thick air laced with sex into her lungs. Utterly spent, she lies in her own glow for a minute, then lets her eyes flutter open to invite Damon to lie in it with her. She finds Damon in a similar state, eyes closed, his head leaning back sleepily against her window. He hasn’t yet had a chance to reconstruct his defenses, and the way he looks right now is just for her: so serene, relaxed, genuine. Almost as exposed as she was just a few minutes ago.

It is achingly, heartbreakingly beautiful to her. 

He opens his eyes to see her looking at him, and he gives her an effusive, radiant smile. It smashes her heart to putty and she beckons him to her. The pain of separation is no longer erotic; she wants him so close that she is jealous of the ribs that get to hold his heart.

He walks over and sits down, his eyes resting comfortably on her face. Its beauty, like always, stuns him—more so now than ever, if that’s possible.

“Can I touch you now?” he asks. She marvels at the fact that his face uses different muscles when they’re alone and he looks at her like that; his whole demeanor is softer, simpler.

She nods against her linens, and he strokes her flushed face. His heart is bursting with joy, and it translates to a goofy grin. He forgets to suppress it, and by the time he sees it reflected on her face it’s too late, but he’s too spent to care, really. The desire for her to feel the love exploding out of his chest overtakes him, and he lays down next to her, pulling her close enough that she can feel it beating. 

They share themselves with each other, bit by bit.

He holds her against him, letting her feel the love he doesn’t have to hide, until her breath evens out and she starts to drool on his arm. It’s the most beautiful drool he’s ever seen, and he doesn’t bother to wipe it away before he joins her in sleep.


End file.
